


Sweatdrenched Suffering

by MonroseMeadows



Category: Watch_Dogs, Wrencus - Fandom
Genre: EuropeIsEngulfedInAHeatWaveImDying!, Gen, KILL MEEE ><, M/M, OS, Short Story, its so hot, sorry for its shortness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 05:23:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15429912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonroseMeadows/pseuds/MonroseMeadows
Summary: Europe is going through a heat wave - the worst one since 1973 - and we are suffering so much.. UGH!I don't know what this is - There is no plot.Just a means to keep myself occupied - just .. soooo hot >>





	Sweatdrenched Suffering

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I am very European. Spelling errors might occur, and sentence structure could be a tad off here and there.  
> 2\. Thank you so much for reading - now don't be a stranger, drop a kudo or a comment! Make yourself be heard!  
> 3\. Halp me .. I'm so hot ><

 

    The thin fabric of the curtains swayed gently by the soft touch of a craved for breeze. The apartment building had been void of needed oxygen, the air captivated between its walls thick and sultry. The formation of sweat built up between crevices of limbs, strands of hair almost glued to a drenched scalp, heated skin glistening under the beam of a small bedside light. The bedroom area enriched with the scent of sweat, tobacco and something not quite distinguishable. Damp bedsheets clung to said moist limbs, making the one item of clothing on their bodies, feel like it did not belong. Next to the queen-sized bed stood a small, cyan colored cool box. It contained some cans of generic branded sodas, completed with two remaining bottles of beer. Yet with the ever rising temperatures in mind, alcohol consumption was rarely contemplated as of late. Rapidly moving images displayed on the large television screen aimed at the foot end of the bed, despite not a single eye ventured toward its illuminating blue hue cast on the walls and bed sheets. Its message lost on suffering minds, its illumination shed on to bodies' soundless cries for help. Relief was known to be found inside the confines of the roomy walk-in shower, though more than once proven to be in vain - as mere minutes after leaving the damp bathroom and the flick of a switch, the godlike cleansing sensation of cool beads of water crashing down to meet skin, the heat would continue to build up and wrap itself around thousands of pores, summoning the build-up and release of sweat.

It was most insufferable during the daytime, with the sun at its highest position in the sky. News reports colored many household TVs with a warning to refrain from partaking in stressful and intense physical activities, and to urgently avoid wasting water resources, as they had run sparse and certain cities had run low on supplies - which naturally compelled area based governments to conduct hand-outs of bottled water. And while some handled the rising heat better than others, there was no denying San Francisco buckled under the weight of its very own supply of sweat. Two individuals in particular had given up entirely on finding salvation, handing themselves over to higher powers to salvage them upon these sweltered times. One with a deep-seethed love for black items of clothing, all of which he was forced to store away, not to be seen again until Mother Nature had calmed the fuck down, once and for all. And the other who failed to find rejoice in the idea of an everlasting fire slowly grilling him on the spit that was Earth. The bedroom had become their chapel, the motion-based AC fans their preacher, and the refreshment-baring cool box their messiah. The older one of the two gave a pale-skinned torso a small elbow nudge - a motion that received no reaction. Reginald suffered greatly, which had given the older man the idea that his younger companion couldn't have originated from San Francisco. Surely, he hadn't - otherwise he would've grown somewhat accustomed to the heat.

The man nudged the thin carved torso once more, this time however, a grunt low in bass was registered. It took a few seconds of feet finding their way back to solid grounds, and a wandering mind, coated in a slight state of delirium, to return to its Earth-bound vessel - but eventually a pair of ash grey eyes shot open, instantly linking with a much darker, yet warmer pair. 

 "Marcus, am I dead yet?" 

A chuckle vibrated Marcus' vocal chords, and he enclosed the question with an askew positioning of his head. No such luck but judging by the amount of priceless hours Reginald spent in between states of delirium, slumber and clarity - he might as well have been. There wasn't much going up inside his exterior shell, and to some extent, Marcus felt sorry for him. No valid reason to it, nonetheless, he had the unknown desire to somehow, however it may occur, offer Reginald some solace.

"You hid from light in the darkness of your dreams, and now you have brought back that darkness, and drove the light to escape back to your dreams."

Reginald moved a moist tongue over the curvature of his thin-shaped lips, then proceeded to push his torso upward - his free hand roaming through landscapes of wet roots of thin ash blonde hair, and then brought over to two watering balls of vision - blurred when he felt a yawn come up to disrupt his rituals. He had cast a single look at the small opening between the white curtains shielding them from the outside world - a newfound hell, and this time it wasn't that much of a stretch. Marcus had been right - the extramural terrain had gained darkness, accompanied by miniscule dots of traveling, burnt up light - in hindsight, the science behind stars, their light, and how our mind and eyes join hands to create a beloved illusion known simply as 'twinkling stars in the night sky'. Reginald dried his forehead with a small cloth, before crumpling the material back up to its former ball-like state and disregarding it entirely. At the very least oxygen had returned to the air, and Mother Moon had graced them with a soothing, yet barely noticeable, breeze that felt cool to the touch, and hungrily absorbed by heated flesh amongst many.

"I wanna fucking die."

Marcus smiled. "And in time you will - but first, we must suffer."

 


End file.
